


in for a penny...

by fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29619996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew/pseuds/fingerscrossed_tryingsomethingnew
Summary: Tony Stark is a self-made media mogul who puts out a weekly publication called Apropos.  Reader is a big fan.Something ensues.
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Reader, Tony Stark/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	in for a penny...

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration just struck for this- who knows how. might make another part. 
> 
> PSA this tony stark is british. so is rhodey. 
> 
> no explicit romance between them, some implications– may actually be romance if there's a part two.

With a glass of sparkling cider in hand, Y/N made her way through the small congregations of market speak, eyes on the prize at the other end of the grounds. She tried her best to appear graceful– no elbowing, watching for stray glasses that may have fallen or especially muddy areas. It was important, she supposed, to put her best foot forward among these people who she would work with this summer and maybe for years to come.

But, _goddamn it all_ if she was going to miss out on a chance to speak to one of the biggest influences in her life for such a little thing as first impressions.

For once, it seemed, the universe was on her side: the two men in nearly identical khaki slacks and light blue button-downs had been given the old glance-down-at-the-watch-to-show-I’m-bored-of-this-conversation. They couldn’t have received a clearer dismissal had there been one in corporate America.

Y/N braces herself with a deep breath before slipping into step beside him toward the gardens. “Tony Stark– hi, I’m Y/N L/N.”

Tony raises a brow and extends a hand across his body to meet her outstretched palm for a quick shake. He raises a brow at her; everything about his expression screams indifference. “You seem a little young to know who I am.”

It’s not quite a question, but Y/N assumes it’s the best invitation to continue talking that she’s going to get.

They’re walking along the rosebushes now, and the vibrance of the first blooms of the year instill her with a little more confidence.

“I’ve been following you since you wrote your first op-ed in the Times. My dad was a big fan of controversial debates at the dinner table– we actually talked pros and cons of universal healthcare when I was 7. You can’t imagine how vindicated I felt when I read the article on Moral Bystanderism in last week’s publication.”

Tony (Mr. Stark?) had slowed his gait slightly, so she wasn’t marching double time just to keep up. Y/N counts it a kindness, which must mean she has his attention.

The thrill of a small victory raced up her spine– he was clearly a man whose attention and time you had to work for. Every second that he didn’t glance down at his watch was hard won.

“You made a case for the ethical and civil obligations of those above the poverty line when you were 7?”

A real question. A shot of adrenaline to the heart. She couldn’t tell the difference.

She feels comfortable enough that she makes no attempt to cover up a small laugh. “It was a little less fleshed out and maybe lacking terms like ‘distortion of utilitarian ideals,’ but it was very well researched. My dad said that arguing a case for human decency is invoking pathos which was a hot-button issue at home, so thank you for the opportunity to send him a clipping of _that_ paragraph.”

His lips quirked upward. Y/N realized that despite being unsmiling for most of their interaction so far, she had still been drawn to Tony’s presence, driven to impress him– a testament to the charisma that had helped him build a media empire by 26.

They came to a stop in front a fountain that sprayed a thin film of mist into the air, reflecting a rainbow.

“What did you think about Misu’s foreign affairs piece?” He questioned, raising both brows at her.

It was a test.

Tony swept a hand back through his hair, dark and artfully styled, and she could see a faint scar at the very edge of his hairline– an old head wound from the car accident that had taken his mother from him and his father, she had read in his biography, before they had left England for the US. She fixated on that tiny imperfection; it made the whole experience more tangible.

Y/N tried not to wrinkle her nose. “I’m not sure I agreed. Biden took care of the Paris Agreement and the START Agreement as soon as he stepped into office, so it seems hyperbolic and a little outlandish to say he’s unconcerned about global issues.” She weighed the consequences of continuing to critique one of Tony’s oldest staff writers, but he seemed to be waiting for more.

She continued, “It also seems far-fetched to be surprised by his choice to fill his administration with Obama vets– they have the experience to back up their beliefs about what can reasonably be accomplished. Even if a lot of them are proponent of engagement for the purpose of propagating democracy.”

There was a twinkle in his eyes as he began to trail away from the fountain, but not without a gesture to follow this time. Y/N tried her best not to scurry to his side, but it was rough going.

“You must really read the _Apropos,_ ” he replies, a genuine smile flitting across his face before coming to rest gently on his lips and in the creases beneath his eyes. It should seem out of place when just moments ago he was a fortress of intimidation, but Y/N thinks a smile belongs on his face like the sun belongs in the sky. “You would have had to, I suppose, to recognize my face. You must have been, what, maybe 15 when I published _Critical Ideation_?”

“I was 10, and it was a hard read,” Y/N countered, laughing. “But I’ve read it again since then. I have one of the pull quotes framed on my wall– ‘Perhaps it all went wrong when we began offering people only a penny for their thoughts. True insight is invaluable.’ It’s been a key theme in my life.”

“Well,” Tony drawls, “You certainly offer a more thoughtful opinion than the average college student– however unsolicited it might have initially been.”

Despite poking fun, something in his voice is high-handed and it makes warmth rush into her cheeks. The back of her neck is hot with uncertain embarrassment.

Y/N refuses to back down. “I’d argue that it’s the spirit that got you where you are today.”

He glosses over her comment, instead pivoting to stand in front of her as they finish their convoluted round of the gardens. He opens his mouth to speak to her, possibly offer some words of advice as a parting remark, but he’s cut off.

“Tony! Bloomberg’s running a counter-piece! We need to talk PR!”

The bane of their conversation is a flushed, sweaty man who looks as if he was created in a lab to play the role of _concerned citizen #2_. He’s wearing an honest-to god headset in 2021 as if Bluetooth headphones haven’t been invented yet, and his orange pocket protector matches his clip-on tie– neither of which, funnily enough, thought to tell his purple shirt.

“Happy, I’m sure Rhodey can handle it.” Tony is commanding yet reassuring. A natural leader.

Happy looks like his hair might spontaneously fall out, which is a shame. It’s really his best feature, a thick head of soft, loose curls. “Rhodey _told_ me he couldn’t. He said–”

Happy cut himself off, but Tony waited with his arms crossed. “Go on. I’m sure he had words for me when I instructed him _specifically_ that I was not to be bothered at this event.”

Poor Happy. Caught in the crossfire.

Happy pulls out an iPhone and reads the message robotically, as if that might absolve him of Tony’s temper. “Tell Tony I’m already popped out for his birthday present to his godmother _after_ I’ve had to tell the berks at Mother Jones to pull their cocks out of their arses about us poaching Kevin Drum. If he can’t handle one fucking story without the company going pear-shaped, he might as well bloody sign it over to me.”

Y/N purses her lips and bites the inside of her cheek in an effort not to laugh at Happy, but Tony’s already chuckling and shaking his head in fond exasperation.

“Well, thank you,” Y/N smiles as she addresses Tony, knowing she has long overstayed her welcome. “It’s been pretty much a lifelong dream of mine to meet you– I even have this insane list of questions that I wrote down in case I ever did,” she laughed. “Anyways, I appreciate you taking a minute.”

Tony gestures for Happy to wait for a moment before turning back to her. “I have to go take care of this but be sure to come find me before you leave.”

Y/N nods fervently.

Y/N had fun while she waited. She struck up a conversation with Greg, the man who would be her boss that summer, discussing market outlooks at first before moving on to less “proper” stories. They’re soon surrounded by a small crowd of analysts and associates who want to hear the stories of Greg’s embarrassment and how different the world was when he was coming up.

She talks about the experiences of women in business with Lisa Abramowicz, another individual that Y/N had long heralded as a figurehead of success.

Y/N’s being chatted up by a second-year analyst at the firm who can’t tear his eyes away from the curve of her breasts when she spots Happy leaving behind an exhausted Tony. She immediately excuses herself and sidles up next to Tony; Y/N wonders if maybe she should have given him a moment to recuperate from managing a crisis that had so urgently demanded his attention, but this was an impulse she didn’t think she could control.

“Crisis averted?” She asked gently. She brought a glass of champagne, along with the one she had pilfered for herself once the evening had gotten a little more chaotic.

He opened his eyes and drew his hand away from his nose. Tony silently took the proffered glass and downed it in one gulp before stealing hers as well.

“That was actually mine,” she commented evenly, a slight pout on her lips.

“Unless I did some math wrong, or someone else did” – he tapped the dark blue band on his wrist– “you’re underage.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as she always did when someone who had absolutely partaken in underage drinking tried to police her habits. She doesn’t kick up too much more of a fuss; he probably needed it more than she did anyways.

Tony tilted his head to peer at her over the lip of his (her) champagne flute. “This list of questions you had for me. Let’s hear them, then,” he urges.

She’s stunned and left fumbling for a moment.

Finally, she says, “It’s a long list.”

Tony sighs and drops his head forward. “Hasn’t anyone taught you the expression ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth?’”

There’s a beat before Y/N can think, but she’s trying to process the situation. Who could fault her, really? She realizes that he had skirted her question about the PR issue, but it really wasn’t her place to ask again. On the other hand, she had been given the opportunity to ask her hundreds of other questions.

“Totally. Yeah,” Y/N mumbles, patting her pockets for her phone. She finally finds it tucked into the pocket of her coat. She draws it out and calls up the entirely too long list of questions. “Okay, so– chronologically, alphabetically, funniest, or nerdiest?”

She’s being serious. She’s not sure how to go about navigating this dream-come-true moment, and she’s asking for some guidance, but all Tony can do is laugh.

It’s not so bad, she thinks, when she sees the tension finally melt out of his shoulders and his jaw soften. She shakes off the glaze that was settling over her as she finally took in how truly gorgeous Tony was in person, especially with a smile on his face and the sleeves of his white button down rolled up. This is not the time, place, or _person_ for that.

She forges ahead and sorts the questions with another custom filter she had created. “Since you had no input, I’m going with most to least impact I think your answer will have on me.”

That only seems to encourage him.

“You wrote a retrospective on the Financial Crisis from the point of view of a college student, but the article was really a scathing commentary on detachment and desensitization to historical events. At this point, you hadn’t yet been to Iraq, right? But later, you wrote about Iraqi citizens and claimed that this ability to compartmentalize was a necessity, and I know context is important. What I’m asking is, and I know it might come off harsh but it’s a genuine question–”

Y/N looks to Tony– for support, for encouragement, for _something._ It seems a nod was all she needed, because she pressed on.

“Do you think it’s possible for us all to convey and understand the emotional complexity involved in events like 9/11, the Battle of Culloden, the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and so many others?”

Tony’s not laughing anymore. He’s sitting up straight, seemingly commanding all the energy in the air, a pensive look on his face.

Y/N knows most of her questions don’t really have answers, but they sparked conversation, and Tony makes her think like no one else ever has before. Not her teachers or professors, not her friends, not her supervisors or managers– not even her father.

Sometimes he asked probing questions. Sometimes he let her stew in silence for a while, asking herself. When she was stumped– and, _wow, was she ever_ – he didn’t fold like a house of cards and help right away, nor did he abandon her to the endless stream of information on the internet; he guided her.

All she has to show for their conversation is a business card with Tony’s assistants private business email scrawled hastily on the back. Tony hands it to her as her bids her goodbye, “Make sure you reach out with more of those.”

Y/N thinks that it’s _everything_.

_To: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkindustries.com_

_From: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_Subject: Imperial Presidency_

__

_~~Hello Tony,~~ _

_~~Hello Mr. Stark,~~ _

_~~To whom it may concern:~~ _

_Hello,_

_I hope you’re well. My name is Y/N L/N, and I had the ~~honor~~ ~~privilege~~ pleasure of meeting Tony at ~~the Botanical Gardens~~ a private networking event last week. He ~~gave me your email~~ provided me this email address as a point of contact should I have any questions. _

_I was reading this week’s_ Apropos _, and while there were some mentions of the inefficiencies of congressional power in Misu’s article, he avoided the idea of the Imperial Presidency and the War Powers Act ~~like a conservative pussy~~. _

_I wonder if you have any thoughts on why have there been no attempts to improve upon the current system of checks and balances in place between Congress and the President (aside from the ~~general incompetence~~ inefficacy of any governmental body)?_

_Furthermore, I was hoping you might share some thoughts on this article from the Financial Times on booming private debt; ~~I’m really nervous about my future and it would be nice to have some reassurance~~ it’s the field I plan on entering after graduation. _

_(Attachment: 1 URL)_

_~~Best Regards,~~ _

_~~Warm Regards,~~ _

_Best Regards,_

_Y/N L/N_

Y/N had assumed that finally sending the email would be a relief, but the tension crept from her neck and shoulders to her head– she could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache. She slipped out of her jeans and into some workout gear before leaving for the gym; clearly, she had some nervous energy to work off.

Three days later, Y/N was getting antsy. Her skin crawled with anticipation every time she opened her inbox, and she checked her email obsessively.

It’s possible Tony was busy– more than possible that an email from some too-young nerd he met was the last thing on his mind. Maybe Tony never actually intended for her to email his assistant and it was really out of pity that he had given her the email, to finally extricate himself from her over-the-top hero worship and suffocating attention.

“You’re spiraling,” Emma comments as she settles in on the couch next to Y/N. Out of her six housemates, Y/N was closest to Emma after falling in love with her take-no-bullshit-but-always-be-kind attitude freshman year.

Emma claps her on the back of the head with a throw pillow when she doesn’t respond.

“I know. I’m totally being stupid– like this doesn’t even matter. I monopolized his time for an hour and a half like 10 days ago–” Y/N cuts herself off. “ _Ohmygod_ I’m being clingy. I’m clinging. I’m a clinger.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “It’s not stupid to want him to email you back. And three days is not enough time to decide that he won’t,” she says decisively. Her tone left no room for argument.

_To: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_From: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkenterprises.com_

_Subject: RE: Imperial Presidency_

__

_Hello Y/N,_

_You’ve got Rhodey here. I’m sort of Tony’s right hand (and his left, and his eyes and ears, etc.). No need for the formalities– I don’t much care for that bollocks._

_Tony was rather impressed with you; he asked me specifically to ensure you get a reply. I’d say that the Imperial Presidency has been around for far longer than the general public notices– what’s more interesting is that President’s haven’t faced consequences for disobeying congressional decisions. Would scrap the whole system if it were up to me!_

_Anyways, you’re not interested a chinwag with me_ _! I’ve attached Tony’s reply below._

_Attachment: 1 URL_

_Attachment: 1 URL_

_Attachment: 1 Document_

_‘Y/N–_

_Glad you read the latest publication. Hopefully you can made heads or tails of those._

_Keep thinking._

_–TS’_

_Cheers!_

_Rhodey_

“You got something from him, though!” Ellie cites later that night at a bar off-campus.

She was the only one who had responded to Y/N’s “I want to get drunk tonight” text despite being the most unlikely candidate.

Y/N downs the rest of her Moscow Mule and signals for another before resting her head in her arms. “The message was two lines! He referred me to some articles on the _Post_ and in _Politico._ That’s a brush off.”

“ _That’s_ an extremely busy and successful man making time to put together resources to answer a stranger’s question,” Ellie counters, sipping her drink that was likely ten parts sugary sweet something-or-other and one part alcohol.

“This is not the time to be pointing out that I’m being a whiny bitch.” Y/N sighs. “I don’t even know why I care. I want to be in _finance_. I familiarize myself with the news to know what’s happening in the markets. So, what does this one dude’s opinion even matter?”

Ellie turned to appraise her and Y/N’s shoulders sunk because she could feel the lecture coming.

“Don’t.” Y/N raised her hand to cut Ellie off. “I know why his opinion matters to me.”

“I love it when you do my job for me,” Ellie teases, grinning.

_To: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkenterprises.com_

_From: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_Subject: RE: Behavioral Finance_

_Hi Rhodey!_

_Hope you’re well. I find that I’m struggling to write an email without the formalities haha. It was sweet of you to take the time to get back to me, and I agree. Not sure how to say it without sounding like a hippie douche but: the whole system is corrupt._

_Loved Tony’s piece on the GME debacle– I have always thought that behavioral finance would take off, but it’s an unfortunate way for institutions to learn that lesson. Felt a little French circa late 18 th century to me. _

_Was pretty surprised by his pro-Wall Street stance since he’s always been a proponent of the retail investor, although I see how it MIGHT be difficult to support frenzied purchasing of stock in a worthless company. Hard to be a proponent of sheep._

_Think hedge fund trading models will change despite the big wins? Also- will familiarity with pop culture become more necessary from an institution’s standpoint?_

_Rhodey, I’d love to hear your thoughts as well._

_Thanks,_

_Y/N_

Y/N only waits until the next morning. Half-awake and blearily sipping a cup of coffee, she opens her inbox to an email from Rhodey.

_To: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_From: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkenterprises.com_

_Subject: RE: Behavioral Finance_

_Hello Y/N,_

_All’s good on our end. Tony and I are headed for India soon, so wanted to get back to you before that._

_I’m shite with finance, but I always say better to be overprepared than under. Far be it from me to call anyone a sheep when I lost a few dollars on GameStop and AMC. I’ll be asking you for some advice then, from now._

_Attachment: 1 URL_

_‘Y/N–_

_You’ve got too much potential to be blowing hot air up my arse. Wasn’t my best work, but Wall Street is its own warzone now and each of those have their complexities to convey. Making a joke of people losing their livelihood likely isn’t the best way to go about it._

_Have you seen the PNLs on Bloomberg? They’re not changing a thing. What would they have to gain?_

_On the pop culture bit– you tell me. Reddit’s been a hotbed of activity for a few months now, but considering Robinhood’s response to the issue, how long will it stay that way? Consider how their slogan might factor in._

_Keep thinking._

_–TS’_

_Cheerio!_  
  


_Rhodey_

_P.S. Don’t be fooled. Tony loved your French Revolution joke. He’s just got a strop on since he wasn’t clever enough to make it in the article._

_To: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkenterprises.com_

_From: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_Subject: RE: RE: Behavioral Finance_

_Hello Rhodey!_

_I’m sure you have a few more experienced contacts on Wall Street who can manage your money far better than I._

_I think the movement to democratize investing is going to be something that shoots up from the grassroots, and why waste the opportunity to profit off these frenzies? From an institutional standpoint, some leveraged options could make billions._

_Not perfect but definitely progress– have you seen RDJ’s VC company making headlines? A step in the right direction, I think._

_Also, check out the story I’ve attached. Thoughts on BTC and cryptocurrency– you’ve never taken a public stance to my knowledge._

_Thanks,_

_Y/N_

_P.S. Rhodey, you’re a riot. I’m a little nervous about how you managed to find my address, but I can’t be upset when there’s cake in in it for me. Thanks_ _!_

They go on like that for a few months, really, with Rhodey as the mediator. Of course, the content of the emails had evolved; after the first few weeks, Y/N peppered them thoughtlessly with personal details.

Those were the bits that Rhodey most seemed to relish in his replies, and despite never meeting the man, he made her feel comfortable in the way only her closest friends could.

Y/N: “… _and finding a summer apartment with roommates who don’t seem like they’re about to single white female me is impossible. Might just have to claim a bench in a park.”_

Rhodey (and ‘Tony via Rhodey’): _“Check out this website: ( link). Tony and I have a friend whose daughter used it last summer– her roommate was a nasty bitch but she never tried to kill her! Anyway, benches are a sure way to encroach on druggie territory, I’m certain._

_‘Please don’t be an idiot and listen to Rhodey. I shouldn’t have to tell you that anymore, honestly. And that man is not our friend in the least bit, Rhodey._

_A park bench is not a suitable option, even in jest. Since you’re so clearly willing to sacrifice your wellbeing, let me contact a few people and get back to you with something more suitable.’_

_–TS’”_

Y/N: “ _I probably don’t have to tell you that dating with these hours is a nightmare.”_

Rhodey (and ‘Tony via Rhodey’): _“Dating? I haven’t seen the outside of these office walls for social reasons in years. I’m practically the Virgin Mary._

_‘Don’t let Rhodey fool you; that’s against company policy. We find the time for things we think are important. I rather think Rhodey’s inability to find a date has more to do with his big ears than the hours he keeps._

_Anyway, you’re a smart enough girl to ensure that you’re being discerning about to whom you give your time._

_–TS’”_

Tony himself volunteered far less about his private life earlier in their exchanges, but Rhodey seemed happy to share on his behalf– which, once Tony noticed, ‘forced his hand’ in replying to keep Rhodey truthful.

Rhodey (and ‘Tony via Rhodey’): _“…and Tony practically boxed my ears for saying that to the PM! I was just trying to make him feel more comfortable– he was rather insecure!_

_‘As a side note, Rhodey is absolutely worthless when you tell him something in confidence. I had said: “Rhodey, I’m going to be cutting some unnecessary fats out of my diet, so keep the ranch dressing light on my salad, etc.”_

_And Rhodey tells PM Johnson (who was complaining about his weight) that “Tony’s been feeling a little big for his britches as well lately. Everyone has to add another hole to their belt every once in a while.”_

_Ridiculous._

_–TS’”_

Y/N: “ _Rhodey, I opened this email discretely in class and covered my laugh so conspicuously that I was almost asked to leave. I hope you’re happy with yourself._

_Tony– maybe its time for some introspection on your reactions to Rhodey’s behavior? Someone I know always tells me to keep thinking_ _.”_

Sometimes she wrote novel-length emails on her thoughts on the Bond Market or the oil crisis or something as ridiculous as the social impact of Kim and Kanye’s divorce (Rhodey had printed this out and asked Tony to run it in the next publication of _Apropos_. It was unfortunately shot down).

Sometimes, seemingly innocuous questions provoked a stream of questioning out of Tony that made her think, made her ask more questions.

Y/N had spent that summer loving her internship with one of the biggest asset managers in the world (despite the difficult hours and tumultuous politics of the finance world), but she felt as though she was working two jobs, considering the amount of effort she put into ensuring the quality and thoughtfulness of her emails to Tony and Rhodey– which were truly ridiculously frequent for a “professional relationship.”

That August, the last week of Y/N’s internship in the city, Apropos re-ran Tony’s _Critical Ideation_ as a nod to the article’s 10-year anniversary.

Despite being a proponent of digital news in an attempt to support more widespread political literacy, transparency, and rapid dissemination, Y/N made the trek to the newsstand around the block from her summer apartment and was the lucky customer of the last copy.

She made herself comfortable on the lone lounge chair on her tiny balcony outside her little two-bedroom apartment before opening the spread.

Right there, underneath the title and subtitle, in the tiniest words “ _For those who stayed critical because they saw it was necessary for change”—_ it was right out of an email Y/N had written three weeks ago, about how _Critical Ideation_ changed her. More important was how Tony had changed her, so for all the good that she affected in the world, he was partly responsible.

This was a nod to her.

And maybe only she would understand it, but didn’t that make it all the better?

She composed an email to Rhodey (after re-reading Tony’s article, of course); it was short, sweet, and to the point.

_To: honeybear_hearts_ts@starkenterprises.com_

_From: Y/N.L/N@gmail.com_

_Subject: wow_

_Rhodey—_

_Genuinely left speechless by this week’s cover spread._

_It’s my last week in the city, and I’d love to sit down to chat in person with Tony before I head back to campus._

_Wish you both the best._

_Thanks from the bottom of my heart,_

_Y/N_

__

Y/N’s phone buzzed with a notification. At this ungodly hour, there was only one person it could be.

(2) Messages from Rhodey

Rhodey: H _ere’s Tony’s number. Set up a lunch– think my role as Rhodey the Mediator has come to an end, no? ;)_

Rhodey: _TS 646-201-8993_

Y/N and Rhodey had been texting on and off for weeks. They had met up for coffee, gotten lunch at a street vendor’s cart together, and had even gone for drinks together a few time (despite Y/N being just shy of 21).

Y/N: _are you sure he’d be down?_

With simply a thumbs up to her message, Rhodey hardly leaves any room for argument. Still, she agonizes over the words for hours before her finger slips and she sends the message by accident.

Y/N: _hey Tony! this is Y/N. i’m back at school next week and i was hoping to see you before i left. lunch for your thoughts this saturday at 1? on me, of course._

She hardly waits a minute before a reply appears.

TS: _Indian Accent in midtown. On ME- don’t be stupid._

TS: _And my thoughts are worth far more than one pricey lunch._

Well, how about that. Y/N beams through the rest of the week.

Tony is late to meet Y/N at Indian Accent. Just as Rhodey had said, she’d had no trouble finagling herself a table once she mentioned Tony’s name.

What made her far more nervous were the glances she was getting, sitting all by her lonesome for 15 minutes in the center of the restaurant. She tried to appear gracious and sure of herself, but she couldn’t help anxiously checking her phone for a text from Rhodey saying Tony had cancelled.

Finally, _finally,_ Tony had strode into the dining room looking windswept and exasperated, but still as handsome and confident as ever.

Y/N had to take a moment to reboot her brain as he shed his coat and revealed his marvelously broad shoulders in a perfectly tailored suit. Her childhood crush on Tony had come back full force quite a while ago.

“You can thank Rhodey for my punctuality,” he said, skirting a greeting entirely. “He entirely forgot to call a car.”

Y/N smiled a stupidly infatuated, so enamored by the man who had challenged her to be better. “Hi,” she started, admiration seeping into her tone. “It’s good to see you again. Thanks for making time. For me.”

Discomfort settled a little in Tony’s expression at her gratitude. “Yes, well, I’d say you’ve rather earned a moment of my time, by now, haven’t you?”

Y/N didn’t really have much to say to that. She tried to be a little less effusive, but for some reason it felt difficult to settle into the ease of conversation they’d had a few months ago.

Tony continues, “And anyway, not like Rhodey would allow me to tell you no– he would talk my ear right off if he could.”

A waiter appeared as if he had been lying in wait for Tony to show up. “Hello, Mr. Stark. Miss. How are you this afternoon? May I get you started with something to drink?”

“I’ll take a glass of Felsina,” Y/N offered helpfully. She’d had more than enough time to peruse the wine list while she waited.

Tony tossed her an unimpressed glance. “She’ll have a water. And I’ll have two fingers of Glenfiddich 21 on the rocks.”

Y/N countered, “Water with lemon.”

A nod from Tony sent the waiter off to wherever he had appeared from.

Tony fixed her with a stern look. “Rhodey may indulge your illegal habits when the two of you are out on the lash, but I’m certainly not going to.”

She shrugged. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t get by without a drink– she’d only wanted to dull the nerves that arose in Tony’s presence.

The meal isn’t exactly commonplace, but it isn’t one of her shining moments either. She hadn’t been prepared for some of the topics Tony brought up, and it stung to be found lacking.

Y/N didn’t let it discourage her– she took down a note in her phone about their conversations and told Tony she owed him an email later that weekend about each of them.

She might have caught a flash of approval in his eye before it was gone. He simply said, “see that you do.”

As their plates are being cleared and Tony slides a card into the check book without glancing at the bill, she’s struck once again by the enormity of him taking this time with her.

Tony stands up before she can process her thoughts.

“Wait,” she hurried to reach for him and ended up lacing a hand through his. He glanced back at her, disgruntled and slightly confused.

“I just have to say how much I appreciate everything you’ve done so far. I know you found my roommates for me, you got me a 1-on-1 with that MD at Oaktree, and the way that you made me think is probably the reason I got the return offer for a full-time position.”

“You got the full-time? Rhodey never mentioned–”

“I didn’t tell him. I haven’t told anyone. I mean, not that it matters to you, but it just made sense to– I just wanted to tell you first.” Y/N blushed at the jumbled mess that had just come out of her mouth. Tripping over her words was the one thing she never wanted to do in front of him. Tony was always so put together and composed; that was something she tried to emulate.

Tony studies her for a moment. He shrugs his coat on and gestures for her to follow him although his expression never changes. “How’s about a drink to celebrate?”

Y/N grins, and her tiny heels click against the ground just a little faster as she tries to keep up.

“Just one drink, mind you. One needs a glass of champagne to celebrate their first job.” Tony emphasizes, eyebrows furrowed and one finger up to emphasize the point.

Y/N can hardly contain a snort. “I’m not a lush, you know. I don’t understand where you got that idea.”

Tony had resumed walking already, so again Y/N was left to pump her arms and puff out a breath with the effort it took to make up the distance. Tony slowed significantly and rolled his eyes heavenward as if she were incredibly taxing, but Tony wouldn’t spend a moment of his time on anyone who he believed didn’t deserve it. This made every second of Tony’s time both more stressful and more validating to Y/N.

He offered her his arm, and Y/N took it gladly. She set the pace for the two of them, and their stroll was far more leisurely. “What did you think of Sperling’s piece in _Politico_? On the tax plan?” Tony posited the question as they walked.

And they were off. She hardly noticed the walk, save for when Tony stopped in a liquor store and purchased a bottle of Moet– a label she knew only enough about to know that it was expensive.

Tony quieted her protests with a story that bridged the gap between the liquor store and their destination, which remained a mystery to her.

“It’s hardly too much,” Tony argued. “In fact, it’s exactly what I wish my mentor had done for me. My father and I moved to the States when I was about 13, but I went to Uni in Cambridge– well, for 2 years before I transferred to Columbia.

“The people that I put my faith in at Cambridge were a few years older and put me in contact with some big media men at the time– all the same type of arsehole: bigwigs making millions, and so wrapped up in Tory politics that they looked down their nose at me until they heard my last name. Which wasn’t the reason I wanted to be noticed.

Tony continued as they step into a building and took the elevator up. “Anyway, I’d finally managed not to cock up an interview– that was most of the issue. My writing and their recommendation got me in the door, but I’ve never been apologetic about who I am, and I was an arse sometimes. I was young.

The elevator spits them out on to an empty floor.

“One of SI’s satellite offices _._ They shoot Nameen’s weekly video segment through that door there,” he explains, gesturing to a discrete door nearly flush with the wall to their left. “I have an office here that I need to grab something from. Give me a moment.”

Y/N nods and stands awkwardly, but she doesn’t even have a moment to snoop. Tony returns quicky with a nondescript plastic bag and ushers her back into the elevator.

He resumed his story before she has time to ask questions. “Anyways, the first job I got at a big paper, Obie has me meet him at his office, and who’s standing there but my father?

“Obie is spouting lies about everything he’s done to help and all the time he’s put into me, puffing himself up to my father who couldn’t give a whit.

“They took me out for an expensive meal and shouted nonsense advice and warnings at me. And the night ended with my father saying, ‘writing isn’t a man’s occupation, but this might be a good steppingstone to politics.’

“But Rhodey and I popped a 10-dollar ‘champagne’ from the window of our first-floor apartment, so I guess it all worked out in the end.”

Y/N had been so engrossed in Tony’s story that she hadn’t noticed them stepping out on to a gorgeous rooftop– well the view was gorgeous, and the mini-garden was nice, but the roof itself was lacking.

Tony handed her the bottle, and stepped back, both arms crossed. She shook up the bottle and twisted the wiring on the cork just so until–

The cork flew off with an audible pop and champagne came flowing from the bottle, spraying her slightly as well.

When she turns around, Tony is smiling softly and has somehow acquired two champagne flutes. He holds them out to her, and she tilts the bottle until each of them have a full glass.

“To you– all your past accomplishments, and your future successes. To being on the way to getting everything you want,” Tony proclaims, tipping his glass to her.

Somehow, she manages a response. “To all the people who take the time to help you get there.”

They clink their glasses together before they each take a sip.

“Now, this is rather sentimental, but Jarvis, a professor at J school, did it for me. And I think you could stand to benefit from his wisdom.”

Tony produces a copy of a familiar yellow book from the little plastic bag, and he opens it to reveal a carefully scrawled note.

_Tony,_

_You’re destined for great things, my boy. There will be challenges greater than you can imagine, but none so great as the one you present to yourself._

_You stand far more impressive than most your age, but you hardly believe in your own potential. My hope is that your accomplishments are such that you can’t deny even to yourself that Tony Stark is great._

_I would wish you luck, but I don’t believe that has ever been on your side. No, you’ve made your own destiny. Instead, I wish you curiosity and insight– may they take you farther than they already have._

_All my best,_

_Jarvis_

Underneath, there is another note. The handwriting is messier, slightly hastier, but the sentiment is equally strong.

_Y/N,_

_I know very few people who are hungry to learn like you, even fewer who make the effort you do, and only one with your passion and spirit. I see great things to come for you._

_Keep thinking._

_Tony_

“Oh.” It was hushed, and she had tears in her eyes. It was the most amazing thing she had ever been given. “Tony, I can’t– I can’t take this from you.” 

“ _Oh, the Places You’ll Go_ – I don’t need the reminder as much anymore. It’s pretty deeply ingrained up there.” Tony replies softly, a gentle rap to his head with his index finger. “And, I’m sure I can count on you to read it to me if I ever forget– even a state school grad should be able to manage that.”

She recognizes the dig for what it is. This is Tony’s way of saying “I’ll be around for you, when you need me” in his own usually emotionally constipated way.

“Yeah,” she promises. “I can manage that.”

He nods.


End file.
